“Not morose. Philosophical. We can only do so much with the time we’re given.” They motioned to the small kid who trailed Lam like a puppy. He held up a pail of water. Ari shook her head, and he put it down sadly. “And these people aren’t given much time at all.”
“I won’t give them a pass for forcing us into genders that aren’t ours. Or thinking my vagina is a demon curse.”
“Hell, no.” Lam put their wrist on Ari’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask that. But see, there’s Roran over there, always watching. He’s trans. But he doesn’t know that word or that there are so many more like him. Or that one day someone like him won’t be stuffed into a dress, made to feel like he’s come out all wrong.”
Ari examined her sword. Lamarack had never spoken like this before, fear and anger wrestling in their tone despite their soft words. “Does he have family? Friends?”
“He has me,” Lam said.
“And how are you doing with the constant misgendering?” Ari shut her eyes tight. “It’s breaking me.” Her body had been a liability ever since she’d crashed into this time period, needing to be a man to have any semblance of power. The constant fear of being found out was cresting toward body shame, which left her longing for Gwen. To feel her touch. To remember that they were glorious when they were naked together. Two girls burning like stars.
“The misgendering motherfucking sucks.” Lamarack touched Ari’s chin, bringing her out of her breath-held place of need. “But I did get to give Roran hope—which fills me with joy.”
Ari had the weird thought that Lam was falling for this place. She threw down a rag that she’d been using, brandishing a newly shiny sword and pressing her mind back to the fight. “After the melee, you’ll be knighted. It’s in Jordan’s book. Both you and Val become Arthur’s trusted knights.”
“I suppose that’s evidence that he’ll return soon.”
“He will.” Ari took her first position again. Lam chose their stance as well. “You don’t want to do that. Well, it’s a smart decision against me because we’re a similar height, but for most opponents, your height is going to win for you. Always use it. Start high. Apparently humans aren’t going to evolve above six feet for a few hundred years.” They crossed blades, and she unarmed Lam swiftly. They groaned and sat down. “Lancelot needs you in fighting shape.”
“And Lamarack needs you to be Ari.”
Ari didn’t like how close Lam was to the shifting ground of her identity. “I can’t wait to be me again, back on Error, with a big bag of Kay’s favorite chips in one hand and my love in the other.” She closed her eyes, knowing what Lam meant even if she didn’t want to. “Until then, Merlin is right. Gwen is right. I have to go all in. Make this real. I am Lancelot.”
“We cannot check our identities until they’re desired. That way lies grief and regret.”
Ari itched to pick up the sword again, to distract herself with a fight. Fights she could win; discussions about how painful it felt to be stuck in a man’s life were losing ground. “For months, I told myself I only had to get here. For Gwen, Merlin, the baby. You.” Ari pulled at her short hair, missing her long braid. “Now I’m here and there’s so much more to do.” She sighed. “Arthur’s celebration is in a couple of weeks. The enchantresses will come. Just a few weeks.”
“Do you think… can Lancelot leave without changing the future?” they asked. Ari scowled hard. “Ara, this story, this king and his people, I can’t fight the feeling that we need to be here, not run home with that chalice at the first chance. We can help them do better.”
“But we have a whole future to save, Lam.”
“Perhaps the past has something to do with that.”
She hung her head. “Please don’t. I can only save one world at a time.”
“You’re Ara Azar.” Lam cupped her cheek softly. “You’ve already come to the aid of whole galaxies. Should be old hat by now. Kay would be damn proud of you.”
Ari had been burying thoughts of Kay since his death. There was an unevenness to remembering him, as if her anger had folded into her grief and turned the ground soft, treacherous. “What would Kay do if he were here?”
“Oh, he’d be toasted,” Lam said, and Ari barked a surprise laugh. “Just permanently mead-drunk. And let’s be honest, even though he’s the preferred gender of this hostile island, he’d fit in the least well of all of us. Stomping around with that silver space rat hair, telling stories about grand things like cargo shorts and high fructose corn syrup.”
Ari’s laugh rolled. When was the last time that’d happened? “That hair was red when we were kids, before the gray. Remember all the firehead jokes at knight camp?”
“’Course.” Lam’s best smile was out. The one that lilted to the side and showed off their perfect teeth. “And if Kay knew how serious you’d become, he’d do this.”
Lam tackled her, wrestling across the hard-packed ground. Ari kicked her long legs and used the momentum to flip Lam. Unlike her fights with Kay, when she occasionally let him get an upper hand, Lam was her equal in length and strength. They tossed into the side of the stable as one, creating a great, echoing bang. She liked the weight of Lam’s body, their smell. She felt a bubble of laughter that left her bold enough to knee them in between the legs but they recovered fast and pinned her.
Silent for a spell, her eyes closed and her muscles melted slightly. “Careful,” she muttered. “I haven’t been with Gwen, with anyone, since before I got marooned on Ketch.”
Lam cursed exquisitely, and Ari laughed. “Yeah, that might be the root of your problem.”
Ari kept her eyes closed. “I know. After Kay… we weren’t ready. I thought we’d get together once I reached Camelot, but now there’s the baby and the Arthur nonsense…” Ari didn’t know where they were. Excruciatingly in love. Thwarted by cycles and stories. Either doomed or destined. Or both. “I did leave a trail of disappointed barmaids across the continent.”
Lam chuckled, and that’s when Jordan managed to kick them both in the ribs at the same time. Lam collapsed on the ground, holding their side while Ari yelled, “Damnit, Jordan!”
“If I had a fire hose, you’d both be blasted over the city walls.”
“Good thing you don’t, then,” Lam said, wincing as they sat up. “How’d you get out?”
“My queen gave the child king an ultimatum. His balls or my freedom.”
“And Jordan is over King Arthur.” Ari got up, dusting her armor. This would work; it had to. “We’ve got your Lionelian armor in the stable. Suit up. Hide your face and curves.”
“We’ll need four for a proper melee,” Jordan said. “Who is your fourth?”
Ari cleared her throat and motioned behind her. The king approached from the keep, flanked by half a dozen palace guards, arm in arm with Ari’s wife.
Jordan nodded in appreciation and left for the stable while Lam tugged their helmet on; it was imperative that neither of them be recognized before the melee. Ari was convinced that if the people saw them fight, and then saw Lam was a commoner and Jordan a girl, perhaps they would see how stupid they’d been by believing only noblemen could fight. Perhaps then Ari could come out of her own gender prison.
Arthur wore a look of pure naivety, but at least he was also wearing his fine armor. “Sir Lancelot, my queen believes you can help me. Will you teach me to ride dragons?”
“Your enemies aren’t going to stop trying to assassinate you unless you make a show of strength,” Ari said.
“And you know the recipe for strength?”
“I do. You’re going to fight with us in the melee against Sir Kay’s team.”
Arthur blanched. “But I’ve never taken a hit. Not even in practice. Merlin believes that might does not equal right.”
“Might equals might.” Ari looped her sword, warming up her wrist. “And that’s not to be underestimated.”
“Oh, gods,” Lam muttered from behind her. “Here we go.”
Ari winked at Arthur, causing his
eyes to widen, and then she swung her sword at his polished, shining silver breastplate with all her strength. In the aftermath, the boy king lay on his back, staring at a sky as blue as his irises. Ari was immediately clobbered by six palace guards.
“I… didn’t feel a thing, apart from the blasted force,” Arthur murmured dreamily from the ground. “Leave Lancelot be.” He waved a hand and the guards moved back.
“That’s decent armor.” Ari grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him to his feet. “I’m glad it’s built for battle and not just looks.”
“What if it hadn’t been?” Arthur asked, touching the new dent across his sternum.
Ari shrugged. Gwen swore in French. And the training of King Arthur began.
On the morning of the melee, the tournament ring sat atop a grassy knoll like a perfectly centered crown. Its red banners bore the crest of Pendragon, waving proudly, dramatically… even though there was little wind on this blue summer morning.
Ari had arrived as early as the vendors, watching the masses file into the stadium, marveling at this view of Camelot. Like the castle, the tournament ring wore architectural glamour. Old Merlin had spared no expense when it came to demonstrating Arthur’s grandeur.
Ari warmed up with a long sword in the ring. All the while her thoughts leaped from the chalice to Gwen to her friends and back again. Jordan and Lamarack joined her, both camouflaged in shining armor, identities hidden beneath their helmets. When the three of them were shoulder to shoulder, they looked out over the gathering crowds, to Sir Kay’s team amassing on the far side.
“I wish we were jousting,” Lam said, rotating their hand-and-a-half sword. They wore the red leather armor Mercer had “gifted” them during Ari’s fake coronation. For all Ari’s Mercer loathing, she had to admit that Lam looked drop-dead gorgeous in that gear, especially after they’d burned off the Mercer logo on the right breast with a hot iron. “My jousting was always better than my swordplay.”
Ari snorted. “Promise me that’s a euphemism.”
Lam chuckled from inside their helmet.
“They won’t invent jousting for a few hundred years,” Jordan corrected. “That’s later Middle Ages. We’re in the early Middle Ages.”
“There’re different Middle Ages?” Lam asked.
“Hundreds of years, according to Merlin,” Ari said. “We’re pre–religious overhaul, apparently. Merlin said that was ‘a blessing.’”
Lamarack cocked their head. “Wait, what are these ages in the middle of?”
“After people discovered science,” Jordan said. “Before people wanted science.”
“You’re saying we’re in a time of self-selected idiocy?” Lam deadpanned.
Ari adjusted her leg armor. “I’m saying we’re about to fight a fake battle in a sports arena for a bunch of drunk villagers at ten in the morning. They’ve got a ways to go as a culture.”
“Sounds like Lionel to me,” Lam said.
Ari watched the crowds continue to file into the stadium. “There’s more people here than the wedding,” she noted. “Word is out that Arthur will fight.”
“Blood is a greater draw than love.” Lam’s voice was poignant. “If they figure out you’ve chosen a handmaiden for your team, they’ll riot.”
Ari swung her sword to wake up her shoulder. “Lam, come on. You know pissing people off is my specialty. It’s how I made Gwen fall for me.”
“Speaking of the queen.” They motioned with a nod of their head to the spot where the crowds were opening, creating a passage. Arthur’s procession wasn’t like the other knights’. His route cut straight through the heart of the tournament ring, stealing everyone’s attention as he deposited Gwen on a seat overburdened with fluffy bright cushions beneath the shade of a billowing canopy. When he brought the back of her hand to his lips, Ari looked away, examining the bent joints on her gauntlets. She only hoped they’d hold up long enough for one more fight.
“Painful?” Ari expected Lam, but this time it was Jordan, come to stand beside her.
“It’s painful to answer that question, Jordan, because of course it’s painful.”
“Pain is good. It means you’re actually trying.”
With that, Jordan took position. The teams were assembling and even though Ari had spent the last three days setting this in motion, she suddenly felt the weight of a seriously bad idea. There was too much hate in the air. It rose off of Sir Kay’s dark expression like smoke.
From the left-center of the ring, Ari motioned for Arthur, Lamarack, and Jordan to circle in. At right-center, Sir Kay and his band weren’t holding one last strategy talk but taking practice swings at the air. Ari beckoned Arthur closer. “I’m matching you up with Galahad. He’s got a solid arm but aged joints. Make him bend his knees and he’s yours.”
“Shouldn’t I be matched with Sir Kay?” Arthur countered. “I am the leader here.”
“Only in name,” Ari said. “He’d spank you in front of your kingdom and enjoy it.”
Arthur looked down sourly. This time Ari’s honesty might have dug too deep.
“I’ll take Sir Kay,” Jordan growled beneath her helmet. “He’s the fuckwit who threw me in the oubliette.”
Ari nodded. “That leaves Lam with Gawain. He’s feisty. Lots to prove, although I’m not sure he’s as rotten as Suck Kay.”
“Sir Kay,” Lam corrected.
“Yeah, sure, that’s what I said.” Ari was about to claim the fourth knight for herself, the unknown quantity in the group who she had a sneaking suspicion was Sir Kay’s ringer, but the crowds had gone expectantly quiet. Ari had a flash of a very different time, a very different tournament ring on a planet far away. She felt the breath-held silence before Gwen had kissed her… and then gambled her entire queendom to save Ari from Mercer.
Ari looked at Gwen. The crowd was waiting while Gwen waved a bit of cloth that matched her glorious red dress. A token of her favor. Arthur started toward Gweneviere.
When Jordan gave Ari a hard shove, she snapped, “What? I’m standing right here!”
Jordan pointed. Beside Gwen—eclipsed by Gwen—a girl wearing a shade of pink that felt distinctly un-medieval stood with her own token held out. Ari hustled over and managed a wink at the girl in pink, inspiring a decent blush. Ari stiffly remembered that this was Elaine of Astolat. They’d been introduced during last night’s feasting. Elaine retreated under the canopy while Arthur returned to central position, and Ari found herself stuck in Gwen’s gravity. Only a few feet apart.
Ari stared straight at the queen for the span of a breath, not caring who saw the intensity in her eyes. Then the trumpets sounded harsh and high, and she jogged into the melee.
Young Arthur was nearly dancing, but Ari noted he was the only one taking this lightly. After all, it was a fake fight with blunted weapons… and real animosity. Jordan’s predictable ire was glued to Sir Kay across the divide. Even Lamarack seemed ready to vent a little steam.
“First positions,” Jordan said, overly formally.
“Spread out in a line, matched to your opponent,” Ari translated.
They did as they were told, each fighter paired and separated by a healthy twenty-foot distance. Ari was on one end, with Lam beside her, then Arthur, and finally Jordan at the far side, facing Sir Kay, who’d started a taunting rhythm by clasping his sword against his shield.
They marched toward their opponents. Closer, closer, and finally, Arthur struck the first blow and the fight began in earnest. Ari knew it would be quick. At knight camp, they’d taught dramatic swordplay as a sort of dance. In reality, it was several strict hits, a bevy of countermoves, followed by a sword to the throat or gut.
Swords crashed and cracked. Armor sang with metal howls. And the crowd rolled about in it like dogs in mud. Ari was unsurprised to find that her unnamed opponent was more than good. He wielded two short swords, using them to fork and throw Ari’s blade in the first seconds of the duel. She rolled out of the way, collected her sword, and then sealed herse
lf into a much more aggressive stance. She tangled his blades beneath her arm in two moves, pausing with her pommel about to snap up and into the knight’s exposed neck under his jaw.
He stepped away, dropping his swords. Beaten.
Ari turned back to the fight and found Arthur dueling Galahad with glee—and definitely receiving a boost in confidence and ability from Excalibur that Ari had enjoyed back in the future. Lamarack and Gawain were also having a decent fight, and actually, they were evenly matched. It was all rather unorthodox, though, as somehow they’d both lost their swords and had started to wrestle. But Lam was far taller and stronger, and ended up sort of roosting on Gawain in a way that made the crowd laugh.
Which left Jordan and Sir Kay. The ogre of a knight trundled after her, slamming his sword against hers. He was trying to pummel her into submission—very un-knightlike. Jordan was playing with him. Waiting to strike. She let him swing himself around and around, before knocking him silly and taking his sword in one swift move. The crowd roared with pleasure as Jordan raised her sword in victory.
Arthur flung up his visor with a grin on his red-cheeked face. “We’ve won!”
Ari grasped his forearm and pulled off her helmet, her symbol to Lam and Jordan to do the same—only when they did, the crowd’s riotous cheer divided, shook, and broke.
Their anger at the sight of Ari’s team made her instantly queasy. Arthur looked from Jordan to Lam and winced as the entire tournament ground toward silence. This was no longer a game, if it ever were to begin with. Ari couldn’t imagine what would happen next, but she didn’t have to.
In a blast of darkness, the blue sky was covered by vicious storm clouds. Ari looked around, finding strange, robed figures set around the tournament ring, hands raised as they chanted. People fled while thunder and lightning mangled the atmosphere. Arthur curled up despite his armor, making himself small, and Ari put her arm around him.
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